Trouble Sleeping
by Trailing Ashes
Summary: Chase thinks hard and long about all the years he spent working with and for House. Years later; haunted by a dream he tries to fix all those things that are now broken--including one stubborn jackass boss. House/Chase; set a few years after "Teamwork"
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Trouble Sleeping

**Summary:** Chase thinks hard and long about all the years he spent working with and for House. Years later; haunted by a dream he tries to fix all those things that are broken--including one stubborn jackass boss. (House/Chase; set a few years after "Teamwork")

**Authors Notes**: Damn that last episode was inspiring. Only Tuesday and I'm already writing two stories from it.

Well. Anyways, I'm writing a series of more realistic and futuristic plot line from Chase's perspetive. Finally Chase/House--I've been wanting to do that for forever. So I'm on a roll; already have a few chapters all lined out and plan to keep writing them as well as the ones I have going for previous stories. I'm actually much happier with this line of thought; it flows a lot more naturally I think. :)

I'd love to hear any feed back or suggestions you'd have; and of course long live Chase and House both...!

* * *

I dreamt I was on a stage. There were thousands of people as the lights flared to life, the curtain rose; spreading out a brilliant view of endless rows of black and faceless people. Against the noise I could make out whistling and yelling and they were everywhere as far as I could make out; dipping into darkness. Among them I could see familair shapes; blurred by the huge lights at the front; turning towards me in a huge wave of blinding light.

It was shining, straight at me while there I was on this huge stage with nothing but a lab coat. I wasn't even wearing anything else. Just a lab coat. It was empty. The rows became silent. And. Then suddenly the orchestra began...

Before I knew it I was suddenly scrabbling to make something up all on the spot. But the once raving audience, spent with silence and anticipation seemed impatient. Everything completely frozen, focused on nothing but me. Me. Holding their breath and just staring right through me, judging, hating. And I didn't even know my part.

There was my mother, I was sure. I was sure she was there. I couldn't see her, but I felt her eyes on me. Judging. Narrowing. Focusing and following as I juggled together some sort of sentence of words that boomed out over the silence. I was helpless. And I was sure my father was there. I heard him call out, disgust in his boy. "You know better than that, Robert--!" And...as I stood there like a fish straight from water; the silence waned on.

If I hadn't saw the signs in the back I would have been done for. Looking up and only just catching with the corner of my eye a white board and a viewing room--the kind that look over surgeries and serious procedures. I wasn't sure how I'd missed it before, flailing and compiling some kind of story like an idiot--but there it was. A green, unhealthy glow behind it's glass and the white board clearly reading in large marker exactly what I should be doing.

So I start to do it without thought. Looking every once and a while to the board and changing my tactics, my acting; my preformance all based on whatever would be scrawled up onto it by a faceless, shadowed man. As soon as I was done; the man wrote something else in large bold letters. And even though I was proud; relieved I felt uncomfortable. I was looking to the audience while I worked, dancing and singing. And then, while taking a bow I noticed to look up and catch the new words, and his eyes; staring down at me despite the fact he was completely shaded in a black silloute.

_**FOREVER.**_

Nothing but that; those black scrawled letters, larger than all the rest--practically screaming at me from the stage. In all their silence, even after I woke up they burned against my mind like someone had plastered them there.

The man who was scribbling away doesn't get up but when I look back to him, he's completely gone. Left with just that glow and those letters while a voice announces over the audience in a booming tone; "And finishing off that was--Puppet Master: Theatrical performances by Robert Chase!!"

There was no clapping. No voice. Nothing. Just. Silence.

That night I woke up in a cold sweat... Staring off into the ceiling of the room I lay in. Completely dumbfounded by nothing imparticular and a bit of a lot of things; the dream already slipping on passed me.

House doesn't wake up, but I know better than to actually bother him with anything. Leg being what it is now a days and.... his temper pretty much the same if not worse than the first night he fired me years back. Instead I turn over into the covers, still staring through the wall at my side. Blue eyes wide with fear and silence while the two of us lay there through the rest of the night.

Although House snored significantly, I really didn't get anymore sleep that night.


	2. Chapter 2

**Title:** Trouble Sleeping

**Chapter:** 2

**Summary:** Chase thinks hard and long about all the years he spent working with and for House. Years later; haunted by a dream he tries to fix all those things that are now broken--including one stubborn jackass boss. House/Chase; set a few years after "Teamwork"

**Authors Notes:** Hey another chapter. Appologies they're so short; I'll try to add one or two with every update. Hah, I have to keep reminding myself that I'm the only one interested in House's and Chase's day to day life. Damn.

Anyways! Thanks again guys for reading, please all reviews and comments whether crique or not, welcome. :)

* * *

Looks like another day. Standing in the middle of the kitchen; making breakfast. The empty air a little comforting, familairity that I can relate to, to get myself to wake up. Dreams crawling and cascading agianst my thoughts even while most of last night had been a blur. I want to keep from thinking, but it keeps coming back. Throughout cooking breakfast, getting dressed.

I shut my eyes for a moment; focusing on nothing and everything. Giving a soft, weary sigh--fighting against the grain underneath my eyes as the day ahead lingers against my thoughts.

"Morning, Chase."

Only opening them to find House standing there at the archway to the kitchen in nothing but boxers and his usual grey shirt; cane resting in one hand. His voice as bloody sing-song as his mockingly cheerful smile even when it didn't seem to ever reach his eyes. Especially today. I pause, looking at him for a good moment. Behind the mocking smile hid these tired eyes and a bitter grudge. The air felt tense and heavy with that pain that haunted him, lurking heavily under that gaze of his.

I comment slowly; casual with concern.

"Your leg hurting again....?"

...It was an obvious point. Tossing the eggs onto a plate, barely glancing back toward him. House's leg had never been good. Always a large weight that held him down I knew, throughout all the troubles in the years. But despite his addictive, manipulating personality that weight to many of his past issues and current ones was always growing more and more, and harder and harder.

Honestly at first I hadn't noticed much; it was just him limping a bit more. Seeing him sitting with a lot more pressure to his bad leg. But now a days I found it was a struggle for him to get anywhere at all, work especially.

I'm looking at him and he gives a slgihtly sarcastic gaffaw.

"Ohhhh lil Stumpy is doing just great, Chase. Apreciate it. And what about you--I see you're cooking..." He looks down to the plate I'm shoving across the table to which he looks back up with a sort of newer mocking smile just for me. "....Goose eggs?"

"It's normal eggs."

"Okay. Normal eggs."

The man doesn't sound convinced. I'd be surprised if he'd just agreed just to get on my nerves but--not a lot else to be done with that. House was always House. Without waiting I slip into a seat across from him; cutting into some waffles. I'd never been a brilliant cook. House more than anyone was surprised I could cook at all.

But when you have an alcoholic mother as a kid, it tends to open a whole avenue of talents in your direction.

"Eat fast okay; we need to be to work at 10:00, House."

"What if I don't want to eat fast."

"Then take it with; we have to be at work by 10:00."

"What...is the whole world going to explode by then."

"No. Just yours. Taylor's sick of us coming in so late."

"Ohhh well if _Taylor_ said. You know I hear she runs a stripper bar after closing."

He props his legs up against the table; tapping a coffee mug with at least some satisfaction. Me left to give him a "just do it, House" look while digging pretty quickly into my own breakfast.

From the second our Dean of Medicine had been hired she knew what to expect... Just not to the level that was Greggory House; destructive rule breaking brilliant master mind even and _especially_ in these days.

She did last. I do give her that. And although House had gone to hell and back trying to get Cuddy back; she was still away from the place and we were still left with this new woman, Amy Taylor. After Cuddy had gotten married it was difficult for her to focus on staying at the hospital at all. It was actually House that drove her away to begin with...And now the new Dean had to sit with me on more than one occasion about all these things; the tricks, the tardiness, the disorginized mess that I practically felt like my boss's parent going into work talking to the principal.

"She'll kill us both...hell, probably fire you. Eat your breakfast."

House looks at me a long moment, expression that of a man considering his options while conveying his obvious dislike and mocking dissapointment for me. I knew he had high hopes for my continuing rule breaking habbits, though right now they'd have to be forgone for the greater issues here.

"Party pooper."

Sniding his childish remark, but one that's executed as only House can. A talent he still thrives on in fact, before taking his bad leg with his hands and the man eases it down while just as easily throwing his good leg to the floor.

Despite pushing, I didn't get to work nearly on time. And neither did House to his smug pleasure. I was so sure we were going to get fired, but by the time I was able to rush us there practically out of breath Amy was waiting at the door. Looking stern and unimpressed while she said about two words and shoved a file into House's face.

"You'll have another one waiting for you on your desk once this is finished."

My boss exchanged an innocent sort of wide-eyed expression with me while the woman turned against her heal--heading straight to her office in an angry stride. Walking so stiff you'd think she had a stick stuck up her ass, me running a hand against my hair.

House wasted no time with giving the woman a face that would impress that of a five year old. And I know, all these years but I still grinned a little--for this I couldn't help it. House in some ways, would never change. And the same went for me.

With just a pause to stare at the woman, House turns valiently and starts limping towards the elevators. Speaking casual despite the obvious pain from his leg.

"What do you think she'd do if I ransacked her new polished office."

My boss turns to me. It was after the juvinile face he made when the comment came, snarking though probably pretty serious. I gave another slight grin despite myself, looking up a little uncertain while patting the man's back a bit. Both in apology and my own sympathies for if the man even tried at this point.

...He was never going to break this new woman in like he had Cuddy.

"I...think she'd fire you. And the rest of us. Come on, House..."

"Hmmm, that or give me a raise. What do you think; a stripper pole in the middle of her room too much?"

The two of us stepped into the elevator; me waiting patiently with my boss behind me. Hands in my pockets while I looked off. House's gaze faltering as a man stepped onto the elevator with us. Me looking over and meeting eyes with the new head of oncology; my boss drifting for a moment into silence.

He hated the head of that department more than anything, constantly reminding the man how temporary his position was. I was there to witness of few of these events, always having the doctor look at me incredulously while I could only give him a casual shrug. There wasn't a lot to do. House was House and eventually Schmit recognized that.

In all honesty Smicht had told me on more than one occasion that when Wilson did come back, he'd be more than willing to give up the position. "It's just House's constant whining that gets at me," the doctor had admitted, gruff and with obvious distaste. "He speaks like I killed the man. Really, I'm not sure what you see in that arrogant son of a bitch."

It was him actually that tended to talk with me the most out of any doctor outside of House's team. Often passing in halls or on the way to different patients and treatments. I was always a people person, and maybe I was one of the reasons he hadn't just quit by now and moved hospitals. If he didn't quit, that meant there was a better chance for Wilson coming back into the right position. And if Wilson came back into that position, House would be ages happier, House being ages happier was great for the rest of us too.

But still, I was impressed Smicht kept on with the job. Impressive all things considerd; I wouldn't've been able to do it personally--all of the stalking and harassing. I'd think probably for Wilson who had mentored him through a few hard things and warned him before he'd left.

House seemed distant only for a few seconds, looking to the ceiling of the elevator. Speaking up rather abruptly.

"So. The oncology department going well. Patients still dying...?"

Dr. Schmit glanced over, sighing.

"...Fine, House. And no, I haven't heard from Dr. Wilson yet."

"Ohh why does this always have to be about _Wilson_. Wilson, Wilson, Wilson--that's all you ever talk about."

"You know if I had, I'd step down. He might be your best friend but he helped me through a lot."

Schmit stared steadily at the wall; a determined unfaltering expression. Voice holding an edge of annoyance as if just trying his best to ignore a persistantly annoying house fly.

I wondered if his face would get stuck like that if he held it long enough.

"Yep, don't we know it. I'll certianly be sure to hold that to you, _Dr._ Schmit."

The door finally slides open; the guy giving a very grudign smile and leaving the elevator before House could send any more witty comments his way. My boss watching him leave with an obvious amount of distaste of his own and of course, intelligence and thought behind those eyes. Studying still as the door shut; mind working like it always did whenever he was deep in schemes or thought.

I look to the door and to the side.

"....Don't."

The elevator starts up again. I don't look at House, hand shoved against one pocket.

"What. Don't what."

"Mess with him. I'm...sure when Wilson comes back--"

"_If_ Wilson comes back-"

"He'll be more than willing to keep his promise. If not I can't imagine you not making it happen anyways."

House for a moment seems thoughtful. And then grins, almost like a child who knew a secret; resting heavy against his cane with almost admiration for my thoughts on the subject.

"Yep. His wife will be thrilled...! His wife and that boyfriend he's got on the side both."

The door opens and I glance back.

"Lucas give you all that?"

"Everything but a blow job. But...that's what I have _you_ for right."

Stepping passed me with that last snide quip; off towards his office at the end of the hall. I stand for a second before looking off with a frown.

* * *

"So. It's a Sunday after noon. Shining with beautiful families, laughing children...but then everyone leaves early." House scribbles against the white board, scrawling a few symptoms in bold letters. "Causes, anyone?"

House turns, blue eyes expectant. Filled with his usual vigor; although cane supporting his leg far too much. Taub beside me, glancing in my direction while fiddling with a pen in one hand. I just give a slight exchange with the man, brushing the bangs from my eyes without much thought.

"....Uh. Ants scared them away."

Taub is still trying to catch my attention but I'm too focused and maybe unfocused to really care right now.

The boss in question doesn't seem very impressed with my flippant comment though, narrowing eyes while holding his own marker. ....But after a moment's pause he speaks again, a bit louder.

"Nice try, but hair like that and a tight asses only gets you points at the stripper clubs, Dr. Chase. Taub.....?"

I sit back while my colleague looks at me again; still completely and obviously unimpressed.

"It rained."

Voice drawled out in an "I'm humouring him" kind of way while looking at me. I'm still not sure where House is getting at with this.

"Ahah--! Who says the old team isn't still good. She's got Porphyria."

I glance to Taub while the man sits foreword a little in his seat.

"She?"

"New patient. Came in with stomach pains, cramps, vomitting and....hallucinations! Guess what that fits." The boss tosses the folder down onto the table, giving his usual winning, sarcastic smile.

"Uh...a lot of things. What does this have to do with raining...?" Taub's flipping through the folder House tossed at him and while we're sitting there I lean over to look. "And--You couldn't have seen this chart for more than five minutes."

"Exactly. I'm _just that good_." His sarcasm doesn't get passed either of us, a bit more biting than usual. Taub sets the folder back, bearing a smile and folding his arms.

"Yea--It's IBS, House. Stomach cramps doesn't mean she has an extemely rare, extremely life threatening disease."

The doctor and our boss looks as if he's in pain just listening to Taub.

"Right. She _could _have IBS...! Of course...that pesky little symptom, what was it...." And the man continuing as if the idea just dawned on him-- "Oh! Right. _Hallucinations_."

Really bot at all impressed, House continued with a wave towards the board, "Unless...of course, you think she really did see her mother raise from the grave. In which case you might want to call the presses right away...! We just might have to start reacting _House of the Dead_." He's underlining the symptom in question, standing pretty heavily against his cane while looking at Taub. Getting a bit more impatient with the both of us.

I hesitate. Biting the end of my pen, staring intently at the board for a few moments. Something curling at the edges of my brain, grinding deeper and deeper as House glances over.

I start a little, shutting the folder with a shrug.

"Well... they're both worth looking into. I...could go screen for other diseases and start her on intravenous fluids."

The man looks at me suspiciously and I'd made a good catch but...Taub's still not impressed. Looking between us while speaking in a pretty frustrated, and what he tries to keep reasonable, tone.

"Look. She probably just...took some drugs from the party she was at the night before..."

All of it was almost like every other day in here, sitting and discussing things it wasn't or was. The board with it's usual scrawl, House with his usual scowl of impatience. The man looked pretty close to just tossing us out the door, his smile more strained and annoyed than anything.

I didn't blame him. Or even Taub for how distant everyone was. For a while we'd had trouble continuing at all, Thirteen leaving to get admitted and Foreman close behind. I know Taub visited every day when he could and House, despite what he said about going out for a lone bowling night I knew he'd stopped by.

Foreman and I still talked pretty frequently. And when this was over and done I'm pretty sure he was going to move away, try again to get a decent job outside of House's craziness. Visit his parents. I'd admired him for it, but at the same time I wondered how that would end up working out at all.

It had been so long we'd all stuck together, a part of me wondering whether or not House would mess with it or try and keep him when Thirteen was gone...Just like he had me. And just as he always had with the others.

"Alright. While you're at it go ahead and give her a tox screen, Dr. Taub."

House spoke clearly and concise; really not look like he had time to bicker with us both any longer; smiling a pleasant smile and gesturing towards the door.

Taub gives me a quick look while getting to his feet, leaving for me to follow suite. Brushing back my hair again; gaze shifting to my boss. House standing while rubbing at his leg with his free hand; looking off towards his office.

For a second I think I can see a ghost of something behind those eyes... Something more than I can explain right now, and farther away than the man usually saw. A pain that ran deep, rubbing at his leg in a solid rythme. It makes me pause and really look.

Recently...I knew things had been bad. House was never okay, yea. But. Gripping the notepad at my side, I can't help staring at my boss. He'd done a lot less sarcasm and humor the passed few weeks with a lot more temper.

I noticed, but for the first time had no one to turn to and ask. Even when I'd asked House, he'd get angry or he'd stick with sarcasm. When Cuddy left, she'd moved away. It was hard to really get a solid grasp on the fact it was just the team now. Just us and Wilson, whenever he was able to stop into town.

Truth was I was only ever with House because of everything that had happened in the last few years... I hadn't even considered myself gay on any level. All those things that had spiralled into this point; the two of us and a man I'd...thought both genius and...someone worth the risk of trying for. Who had, to some extent, pulled off "Stockholm Syndrome" to a whole new category.

"Oh and Chase." I start as he looks back...again smiling pretty impatiently. I catch the myself still standing there; studying the man in silence. "While you're down there. Don't forget to start her up on that carboyhydrate diet and help her a long a little with her...._not IBS_ by filling her up with our yummy porphyin production supressing medications."

He shoos me again; Taub's already made it through the door, only glancing back to wait for me to be close behind. I hesitate, nervoulsly offering a pretty forced smile and nodding a little too quickly. I guess House noticed the staring; studying me for a second.

"Right...uh. Right."

And hurrying, I'm off; Taub raising his brows and giving me a pat on the shoulder while I speed up to walk beside him.

"You know. I know House is fucking you and all...but you really got to know how this is going to end up."

I glance to the man while we walk.

"Yea. But who knows, right."

He laughs slightly, shaking his head.

"Trust me. House isn't the type to keep any long term relationship that isn't Wilson."

"Yea, or us..."

Taub only stops to look at me for a second, looking off with an ironic grin as if a little impressed.

"Yea. Or us."


	3. Chapter 3

**Title:** Trouble Sleeping

**Chapter:** 3

**Summary:** Chase thinks hard and long about all the years he spent working with and for House. Years later; haunted by a dream he tries to fix all those things that are now broken--including one stubborn jackass boss. House/Chase; set a few years after "Teamwork"

**Authors Notes:** It's really of more for my benefit than anyone's but I'm really doing totally legitamate research on all this medical stuff. Damn I feel like I'm trying to re-inact an episode of House except years in the future when things kind of spiraled downward.

Anyways. Sorry if any of it doesn't have a rhythme to it; I have to remind myself to add more expression and excitment to each chapter. x__x;

* * *

"House thinks it's Porphyria."

The hospital goes by me in a rush. Sometimes I feel that by standing here I can see the world like it was. A long time ago. When things felt simpler, but less choatic. It's kind of weird in a different way, the things you can see while standing still like this.

The itself ER is packed full today. A car accident causing victims to be rushed into care. I can see the white of the patients in wheel chairs, yelling in pain and doctors everywhere. It's insanity. A mess. Destruction everywhere and complete order all at once.

I'm standing there near the desk, watching the mess of people and patients in a sort of distance with the phone to my ear.

"Sounds more like IBS. But you know House, he's usually got reasoning behind his insanity."

Over the noise Foreman's voice coming from the other line; a pretty good reminder to something solid.

Foreman himself sounds tired as all of hell. I don't blame him for all that we've been through and for how strongle he feels about Remmy. She chose a different hospital in part so we wouldn't see her like this.

"Yea, it's what I figured too. Taub's running a tox screen anyways. Uh...What do you think about a brain tumor?"

Foreman pauses in silence; something shifting at the other end. Medical staff came rushing by me, a nurse stepping passed me with a quick look in my direction. I take another step back just to be sure I'm on the outside of the choas.

"Could fit. I'd...get her an MRI. And...everything alright, it sounds like a war zone over there."

I rub my head, looking to the side.

"Yea. I'm in the ER."

"Right...Well. You check her apartment yet...?"

"She's got a house. And yea, I'm on my way now. You think it could be some kind of toxin...?"

"More like prolonged alcohol abuse...you'll notice if she detoxes soon enough. And...Chase?"

I look up at his voice, weary. Leaning back while shoving a hand against my pocket.

"Yea?"

"Remmy was wondering when you'd be over again. We heard you got together with House."

I winced a little, my free hand at the brow of my forehead and feeling a little more tired while my mind kept running against the noise all around me.

"Well--....not. Together."

"Right. Well. I know Remmy wants you to know she admires your bravery. And so do I for that matter. You know this isn't going to end well."

"Yea. I've...gotten that."

"House is crazy. Sadistic. Manipulative. You more than anyone know that....This isn't because of Cameron is it."

"Foreman."

"It's been three years since you last saw each other. Call her."

"Foreman, it's not."

"You sure."

"I'm sure."

"...Right. Well, can you make sure to tell Taub he owes her forty bucks."

"Forty--what? Why?"

"Something about a bet. With you. Anyways, be sure to get up here when you can."

"What--I... Yea...I'll be sure."

"Good luck with House."

"Yea. Thanks Foreman."

Setting the phone back on its hook, my last comment more tired while I look off back to the crazy onslaught of doctors.

Trying to keep from my thoughts lingering on the two and how they're doing or Thirteen's steady and continuing decline. I don't want to think about that any more than I want to think about these visions and feelings I've been pushing down.

At the edge of my mind I wonder where this long trip's going to lead us.

A lot had changed. I know that. A deep part of me regretting it more than anything. Foreman gone, Thirteen gone; Taub and me pulling their weight while we could. House never did stop with his knack of genius or streak of curing patients.

Still, I sort of wondered if it meant a lot to her. Thirteen. That she and Foreman got back together or that she'd spent her last years with House. I wondered how this would affect things here, her being gone. I'd really liked her. Something I wasn't afraid to admit to.

Pocketing my hands I stare off at the mess of the ER, interupted only by the wailing of my beeper. It goes off so fast and loud I fumble to unbuckle it from my belt. The doctors and nurses don't notice while I stare for a moment, cursing under my breath.

If there was any time to get back into action, it was now while I rush out of there; as fast as my legs will take me. Our patient who's urgent paging tells me that maybe it isn't just IBS.

"So...what causes high blood pressure and severe personality changes...."

We're all standing back in the office. The sillotte of House in the dark room against the chair, the symptom "intermittent high blood pressure" and "personality change" scrawled against the board in bold, black letters. He's rubbing hard against his bad leg; looking off as if talking more to himself than us. Me and Taub exchange looks.

Clouds shifted outside the windows and without the lights on, the room itself already cast partly into shadows.

"...House. Being angry like that doesn't mean a personality change. Her tox screen showed up postitive for marijuana... Turns out our little girl's a stoner. Long term abuse can cause hallucinations and can point ultimately towards heart problems. It fits."

House doesn't seem to be listening to Taub. My own gaze drifting off to the board, a blue tinge from the darkening room cast across each letter and symptom. Thoughts numb and focused; speaking in a low tone if anything just to break the silence between all of us.

"....Adrenal Cancer. Heart, hallucinations, personality changes. And...she had a round face, overweight."

With that I'm looking back to the man. He shuts his eyes for a moment, grimacing as if in thouight. Before sitting up, pushing his cane against the ground.

"....Go get a biopsy. Check her blood and urine."

Me and Taub continue to stand there while rain splashes in dots against the windows. Small drops cascading down across it, the grey sky darkening even further. House doesn't seem to pay attention to the quickly fading light, head bowed while rubbing harder against one leg again. His attention to either of us or the case waning...

Taub and me look at each other, Taub nodding his head towards House. Me giving him a quick look before he's ditching me there with a quick glance.

I don't think it's wise hanging around while House is in so much pain like this, but then again I also know that's the last thing I'd want. I give Taub a quickly dirtier look as he vanishes; but I think over all I would have ended up in this spot anyways. Standing as the rain gets a little bit harder at the windows; shades still open enough to make out their drops.

"....What's going on."

It's hard to tell what he's thinking. He sighs, deep and drawn out. Blue eyes finding mine in the steadily darkening room.

"What's going on is our patient is dying. So. Go stick her with a needle."

"I mean....your leg. You." He looks up about ready to snap at me so I add pretty quickly, "You've just been...different. If...if you want to talk about anything--"

"Is that all?"

"If you _need_ anything--"

"Yea. Got it. You're skills out of bed are just as good as in. Go."

"......"

Standing there a moment more, I go quiet. Nodding.

"Just. Let me know."

He doesn't respond and I don't expect him to, quickly making my way from the room. Biting down against my own teeth while in thought; also in worry. Working my mind just like House always taught me to. The only reason he'd do anything like this is because of something that happened. Or has been happening. His slow decline is telling me of something deeper, an issue that isn't being adressed or considered---even looked at.

House stopped going to Dr. Nolman's about a year ago. He hadn't given much reason why. Just that he was better. Fixed. Came clean to his ways and moved on with the world. That was around the time we first made out or had any one night stands at all.

I'm guessing circumstances is why no one really knew about it until now. People always worry House will figure something out; but when it's House doing the things it's a little less likely to get around. And anyways, back then it had just been this one night thing, House reasoning in his much more gentler, effort given way how I was lonely and he was horny and it was all just fun and play in the end.

Ages back was when he'd first broken down and been sent to that ward. Come back a "new man" filled with the striving goal of happiness and healing. Something before then I'd never thought fit well with House at all. I couldn't even imagine. And at that time I'd just been the head in surgery; doing the man's dirty work wherever he asked. Back then I'd been focused on Cameron and a future with kids and love and everything House wasn't.

I don't know how we ended up here. More accurately I don't want to think about how. Stepping in pace down the halls to go help Taub who I'm sure is already talking the patient down and getting her consent. Wishing there was an easier way to figure things out and put together alll the peices that had fallen so drastically apart with the hand of God, with time and the patient, guiding hands of one Greggory House to where we'd all ended up in the end.


End file.
